The bush administration orchestrated heath ledger’s death to distract us from the rotting chaos enveloping America right now. Genius, truly. They picked the guy with the perfect amount of fame, potential and family, someone wholly unexpected to die tragically yet somehow in some way not surprising. Someone we care about, but not really at all. Someone famous enough but not too famous. Someone with a decent career, but not America’s sweetheart. You get what I’m saying.
Every single news story right now is about his death, everyone’s talking about it, and I think I just might go mad.
But okay. OKAY. I’ll grant it is worthy of interest; I’m not begrudging anyone their feelings regarding it. I understand that we’re a culture fascinated with death and with celebrity, and the two mixed together brings us to a frenzied state of rapture.
It’s just that a famous person’s death affects my life in absolutely no way whatsoever. Doesn’t matter how bad I might feel or how much I liked/disliked the person’s entertainment output. So while I feel sorry that Ledger’s little girl will never really know her father, there are untold numbers of people suffering the same fate, and worse. I have neither the time nor the inclination to feel for every single person and all their tragedies. There are too many people, billions of them if you believe the news. (did you know one of my favorite movie scenes of all time is the speech from Jack Nicholson’s character in A Few Good Men, when he’s on the witness stand…”Santiago’s death, while tragic, probably saved lives. My existence, while grotesque to you, saves lives…” I quote it all the time. I love that movie.)
I don’t know how Heath Ledger died, but I know why. Because that’s what people do. You can be famous, you can be rich, you can be pretty, but death comes for everyone. Profound stuff, huh?
Now if this were say Matt Damon, well that changes everything.
My life is more affected by the fact that the effing Bruins lost in horribly embarrassing fashion to the stupid Canadiens last night, 8-2. I hate that team with a fiery passion, it’s way beyond flames on the side of my face. I wish them and all their lousy fans were on a bus that caught fire, then went careening off a cliff, and burst into a mushroom cloud at the bottom of the ravine.
The other night when the boy was gone and I indulged in some recreational adult fun, I ruminated quite a bit in my notebook on the joy of hockey, what I love so much about it, and the essential role fighting plays in the game. I may just share those thoughts in the coming week or so, if I can figure out what the hell I was saying. My notes are not exactly coherent as I tend to use a lot of shorthand and then forget what it means. Do I care that not a single person reading this likes hockey? See above, my whole “no time or inclination to care” bit.
this post shall also serve as my wed bitchery.
- Things we lost in the fire
- Dr. Internet & the Hurty Foot